Eloquence, some say, is empty,
shunning fine words that are spoken,
shattered all like Humpty-Dumpty,
mute, irrevocably broken,
but I always search for places
words can fill when I feel numb,
reassuring with their graces
Tweedle-Dees who tweedle-dumb
their own lives and ours, evading
all engagement, anywhere,
like outsiders, never trading
what insiders ought to share.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem